Thank God it's Christmas
by labyrinth38
Summary: House is hurting; Wilson is there. - Two-chapter Christmas fic. Hurt/comfort/friendship; no slash! No spoilers for S4/S5. - Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a short, two-chapter hurt/comfort/friendship Christmas-fic. ****:) Takes place sometime during Wilson's third marriage, so no spoilers for the current season... Second part will be posted tomorrow. - Enjoy! ;)  
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"You coming over later on, or do you want to join me right now? I'm leaving in a couple of minutes..." When he didn't get an immediate reply, Wilson slowly let go off the glass door and took a couple of steps into his friend's office. "The other guests probably won't be there before 8..."

House returned his friend's questioning gaze impassively, his expression unreadable. "Don't think I'll be coming after all… Not in the mood."

Wilson frowned at that. "Not in the mood for what?!" He gave a slight shrug. "There's food; there's booze... And everything's already paid for – _by me_. Can't believe you'd voluntarily miss out on that…" When the other man didn't reply anything, his frown deepened. "Come on, House… Don't do this to me. Julie has counted you in…"

"Well, then tell her to count me _out_ again," House snapped at him.

The look Wilson gave him was an interesting mixture of challenging and pleading. "Come on, House… You really wanna sit alone at home? – It's Christmas eve…"

The other man rolled his eyes at that. "Well, what do _you_ care? You're Jewish anyway…"

He almost would have groaned, when Wilson suddenly eyed him assessingly. He knew that look...

Sure enough; there it came:

"You sure you're feeling okay?"

"Peachy. – Now go. Say hi to Julie and… enjoy _Christmas eve_." Tone, as usual, dripping of sarcasm.

Wilson eyed him a moment longer, before reluctantly nodding slightly. "You want me to give you a lift to your place at least? Weather's been pretty shitty today…" He tried to sound casual. No need to mention that he'd seen House struggling to even get out of the car this morning, his leg apparently stiff and painful from the cold.

House shook his head once. "Nope. I'm good." The reply was clipped, his tone clearly telling Wilson to back the hell off already.

The younger man hesitated, before reluctantly turning towards the door. "Okay, then. But call me if, you know… – Just call me if there's anything you need."

As soon as Wilson had left his office, House let out a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment, head hanging slightly. Then he slowly turned around to retrieve the pair of crutches he had hidden behind the window curtain in the corner behind his desk earlier.

_Everybody lies…_

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_

When he had finally made it home to his apartment, House immediately turned towards the bedroom. Gingerly lowering himself onto the bed, he carefully lifted his bad leg up as well, using both hands to support the movement.

Leaning forward far enough to take off his shoes was out of the question right now, so House used his left foot to force the right sneaker off. – He moaned when he saw how swollen the foot was. _Again_. If this new problem went on for much longer, he'd actually have to see someone about it…

He couldn't suppress a pained groan, when a shy attempt to move his leg into a slightly more comfortable position made the thigh muscle clench up even more, sending another sharp stab of pain from an area just above his right knee all the way up into his lower back.

The pain had been building for days now, ever since the first real snowfall had set in. Today it had been excruciating. He almost hadn't managed to get out of bed this morning…

To make matters worse, his knee had locked up on him sometime after lunch, and now he couldn't completely straighten the leg anymore, and he couldn't bend it beyond a certain point either, which had caused his gait to be even more screwed up than usual. Now a sharp pain shot up his leg and into his hip and lower back with every step he attempted, and he was hardly able to bear any weight at all. – This absolutely, _seriously_ sucked…

Well, no need for Wilson to know… He'd had enough of his friend's pseudo-casual "why-don't-you-go-check-out-some-rehab" shit lately. No need to provoke another one of _those_ lectures. Or better yet a replay of his popular speech concerning an arbitrary personal issue, his head, and the pain.

Plus, he knew that Wilson had been looking forward to the dinner he had organized tonight. He had invited some of his friends, had straightened out things with his current wife some, and was in an overall festive mood. – No sense in spoiling all that; _again_…

When he decided to try and get up again about an hour later, he found that he couldn't. As soon as he tried to sit up, his hip shot sickening bursts of pain up into his back, and he found that he couldn't bend his upper body enough to move out of his reclined position.

This was just great… It wasn't even 9 o'clock, and he was looking towards an immobile evening and night on his bed.

Pathetic. That's what this was. That's what _he_ was. – A miserable, lonely, old cripple that couldn't even get out of his own bed anymore. One day, he'd simply die in his own filth, and it would be a week before anybody would find his stiff, rotting body.

_Merry __fucking Christmas_…

Half an hour later, he honestly wished someone would just shoot him. His leg and hip were radiating pain constantly by now, no matter how still he kept himself or which position he chose to lie in. He had started sweating profusely, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. His jeans were feeling much too tight around the leg by now, but he simply couldn't move enough to take them off. He was also starting to feel vaguely nauseous, and slowly but surely felt the first traces of panic creeping up his chest.

That was when he heard the insistent ringing of his phone.

His answering machine picked it up on the third ring. "House? You there?"

Wilson. – For a very brief moment, House actually felt a little better just hearing his friend's voice…

"I… just thought I'd check in on you briefly. – Come on, pick up." A long moment of silence. Then, hesitantly: "Okay, then... Call me back when you get this."

_Funny_…

10 minutes later another call, Wilson's voice by now openly worried. "House? I know you're home, so _pick up the damn phone already_!" A sigh; then: "Okay, listen. If I haven't heard from you in 15 minutes, I'm coming over."

_Beeeeep_.

**Tbc... :)  
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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Man… This has turned out a lot more fluffy than I intended. But it's a Christmas fic, so that's allowed, right? ;)**** Anyway: Here's chapter 2 - Hope you enjoy! :)**

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House couldn't quite decide whether to feel embarrassed, exasperated, angry, or relieved, when he heard his apartment door being unlocked less than half an hour after that last message.

"House," came the soft call, followed by the sound of expensive French loafers on hardwood.

Concentrating on controlling his features, he resignedly awaited the inevitable. – Sure enough, seconds later, the door to his bedroom was slowly pushed open.

"House?" Wilson was squinting to make something out in the half-dark. The moment he switched on the light, House heard him draw his breath in sharply.

"What the hell happened?" Without hesitation, Wilson now quickly approached the bed, one hand immediately going to the other man's sweat-drenched forehead. – Of course; checking his temperature…

House shook his head, partly in a negative response, partly to get rid of Wilson's examining touch. "Nothing. Just ran a mile; that's all..."

Not even bothering to hide his concerned frown this time, Wilson simply ignored the sarcastic comment. "The leg?" He took in his friend's tense posture, the slight trembling of his muscles, his unusual paleness.

House snorted at that, giving up his weak attempt to avoid the inevitable. "What else…" Frustrated; pained.

When Wilson reached out to gently check his foot for swelling, House involuntarily flinched at the small movement the touch elicited.

The younger man's frown deepened. "Since when has it been this bad?" He started to carefully feel his way up House's leg.

Gritting his teeth, House forced himself to let his friend proceed. "Been getting worse all week…"

Once he had reached the knee, Wilson started to gently probe the joint. "It has stiffened up on you again, hasn't it…" He didn't even wait for a reply, instead searching the other man's gaze. "Can you sit up?"

Reluctantly, House replied with a small shake of his head. "Hip's a bitch right now. So is the back…" He turned his head slightly to the side, refusing to let Wilson see his embarrassment.

The younger man nodded slowly. "Okay. Let's just get you out of these jeans first... Then we'll work on getting the muscles to loosen up a bit again." He was already approaching the foot of the bed, waiting for House to unbutton his pants. – Acting as if this wasn't a big deal at all; as if they did this sort of thing every day…

It was only because he was really starting to become rather desperate for some sort of relief, that House reluctantly followed the other man's guide.

Sensing his friend's tense anticipation of even more pain, Wilson very gently helped him to remove his jeans, concentrating on causing as little movement and as little friction against the right leg as possible. Then he carefully started to check the foot pulses, giving House a reassuring nod when he found the blood supply to be apparently intact.

Even though the pain was still just as bad as it had been, House felt himself slowly starting to relax just a little bit, his own panic abating somewhat in the light of his friend's clinical calmness.

Without preparing House for what he was about to do, Wilson then ignored all the usual rules between them and reached out to carefully push up the right leg of House's boxers slightly.

House immediately caught his hand. "Wilson…"

The younger man met his wary gaze determinedly. "House... Two seconds. – I've seen it before…" When he received nothing by an eye-roll in response to the admittedly weak argument, he added in a more clinical tone: "I just wanna make sure there's no inflammation."

A long moment of hesitation.

Clenching his jaw and turning his head slightly to the side again, House finally released his hand with obvious reluctance.

True to his word, Wilson didn't take more than a few seconds to briefly inspect the large scar marring House's right thigh, before very lightly touching the irregular skin with the back of his hand to check its temperature. Quickly covering the thigh again, he then just nodded slightly. "It's fine."

When House – unsurprisingly – didn't reply anything, he briefly left the room, only to return a few minutes later carrying a heating pad, which he held out for his friend.

"I'll lift your leg and you wind this around your thigh, okay?" Again, no reply; but House took the heat pad, obviously preparing himself to do as Wilson had suggested.

Nodding once in confirmation, Wilson slipped one hand under his friend's calf, the other under his thigh just above the knee, before very carefully lifting the leg just enough for House to apply the heat pad. Which he did with a suppressed moan of pain...

Grimacing slightly in commiseration, Wilson eyed his friend assessingly. "How much Vicodin have you had?"

House threw him a short glance, his tone an interesting mixture of frustrated and sheepish. "If I wanna keep breathing, I'm afraid enough …"

Hesitating briefly, Wilson finally just nodded, gesturing towards the heat pad. "Let's just give this a moment, before we do anything else, okay? I'll see about some dinner in the meantime... – You be okay for now?"

Grateful for the space Wilson was giving him, House just nodded slightly, even though he was really more nauseous than hungry right now…

"Didn't you just have dinner with your guests?" The words sounded forced out, House's whole body still tense with pain.

"I... haven't had much," Wilson replied somewhat hesitantly. "And _you_ probably haven't had anything yet, have you."

House grimaced slightly in response. "Not… really very hungry!"

Wilson replied with a small, but determined nod. "You'll be; once we have you feeling better…"

. . . . . .

When he returned from the kitchen half an hour later, House had visibly calmed down; the heat seemed to be doing its job. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Wilson carefully removed the heating pad from around the thigh, handing it over to his friend. "Just hold it against your hip for a moment now. I'll work a bit on those muscles, okay?" His hands were already resting on the lower part of House's right leg.

When he received a somewhat hesitant nod in response, Wilson started to very gently massage first the calf, then the knee. When he finally moved on to the thigh muscles, he lightened his touch some more, taking his time to gradually build up the pressure.

The moment he could finally feel the cramped muscles soften slightly beneath his fingers, House suddenly exhaled audibly, his face finally starting to relax a little. "It's better now…"

Wilson nodded, firmly stroking the tissue a few more times, before slowly removing his hands. "I can tell. – Let's see what the knee has to say about it..."

Without waiting for permission, he adjusted his position before gently taking hold of his friend's leg again. Tentatively, he started to bend the leg in the knee joint, before carefully straightening it again. He repeated the movement a couple of times, gradually increasing the range of motion. – The stiffness had already greatly diminished, and after a couple of minutes the knee actually seemed to have regained its usual flexibility.

He continued with a couple of exercises for the hip, and even though House inhaled sharply at that, his fists unclenched again after a few minutes of the careful movement attempts.

Satisfied with the progress they had so far made, Wilson then shifted his position slightly to once again check House's foot, frowning when he still found it to be noticeably swollen. – He had never heard House complain of such a problem before...

Deciding that – no matter the actual _cause_ of the swelling – a massage was really all he could do to help with the _symptom _right now, he started to gently knead the foot.

That was when he suddenly felt House shift slightly beneath his hands, apparently uncomfortable.

At first, he thought he was somehow hurting his friend, but when he searched House's eyes, he was surprised to find his face slightly flushed, as if embarrassed by something.

House refused to meet his gaze, instead just mumbling quietly: "You don't need to do that…"

"House," Wilson gently interrupted, "shut up." With that, he simply resumed his former actions, patiently working on the swelling that seemed surprisingly reluctant to leave House's foot again.

Torn between the instinct to protect these most private aspects of himself and the prospect of maybe actually feeling better through the intervention, House hesitantly lay back again, allowing Wilson to continue; for now...

While Wilson's attention was still fixed on his foot, House focused on his friend's face, expecting to find traces of disgust, or at least discomfort or uneasiness there. But no matter how long and how closely he watched the other man, he couldn't detect any of these sentiments. In fact, Wilson's face showed nothing but affection, and maybe mild concern.

What he saw in the other man's expression contrasted so sharply with his own self-disgust, that his feelings momentarily threatened to overwhelm him. – To his own horror, House suddenly felt tears filling his eyes.

He was abruptly pulled from his momentary state of emotional chaos by Wilson, who spoke in a level voice without looking up from his task. "Does this hurt you at all?" He seemed completely oblivious to the morbid thoughts going through House's head.

Just staring at the younger man for a long moment, House finally shook his head once, both to negate the question and to try and clear his head a bit again. "No; just feels… tight; a little numb maybe…"

Nodding slowly, Wilson shifted his hands slightly to increase the pressure he was using, patiently keeping up the massage.

No; there was no question about it. Wilson didn't appear uncomfortable or even hesitant; in fact, he seemed completely at ease with what he was doing. – In the light of these findings, House found some of his own embarrassment and uneasiness slowly recede a little…

Wilson's calm voice once again drew him out of his musings. "I think it's starting to get better." He looked up at him questioningly. "How does it feel?"

House replied with a quick nod, voice much firmer than it had been before: "Better... Good."

Smiling slightly in response, Wilson continued the massage for another few minutes, before carefully placing the leg down again.

"So..." Wilson slowly pushed himself to his feet, throwing House a somewhat challenging half-smile. "What's on for Christmas TV?!"

Now _that_ was exactly why he kept Wilson around. He knew how to go from nurse to bestest buddy in two seconds flat. – If that wasn't something he'd, just on principle, never _ever_ do, he might actually have kissed Wilson right now out of sheer gratefulness…

Instead, he very carefully started to try sitting up again.

"Julie must be completely pissed at you for leaving her alone at your own party tonight. – Can't believe you actually did that…" Not the reply Wilson had expected.

The younger man looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment, but then just shrugged. "I... just... figured you might need some company. _Want_ some company. Whatever..." His eyes suddenly held a mischievous spark. "Wasn't much fun without your embarrassing comments anyway."

By now, House had carefully lifted his bad leg and was slowly turning sideways until both feet were on the floor. Wilson quickly busied himself with picking up the crutches his friend seemed to have simply left on the floor earlier. – Using one of them instead of his cane, House slowly pushed himself to his feet, ready to limp off towards the living room.

"I can imagine. With only... Julie's attempts at food poisoning to entertain you..."

Wilson rolled his eyes at that. "She's a good cook actually! Which you'd _know_, if you came around a bit more often…" He slowly followed his friend out of the bedroom, unobtrusively keeping an eye on his somewhat insecure gait. "She makes an excellent Risotto for example, remember?"

House quickly nodded, which should have been enough to make Wilson suspicious. "Sure! If you're into baby vomit…"

"House! She's my wife, remember? – And it's _Christmas_," the younger man protested half-heartedly.

"What's that got to do with anything… You think I should be _nicer_, just because _our_ guy that was killed by _your_ guys later on, supposedly started his torturous martyr life one of these days?"

Wilson responded with another eye-roll. "Aren't we a ray of sunshine today…" He watched House awkwardly lower himself onto the couch, then eyed him assessingly for a moment. "Think you can eat now?" When he received a distinct nod in response to his question, Wilson turned towards the kitchen, ready to serve them both their improvised meal.

"Wilson?" He automatically turned around again, throwing the other man a questioning glance.

House seemed to be searching for words. When he eventually looked up at him, his gaze was open and almost sincere for once. "Thanks for… coming over tonight."

Wilson looked shocked for a moment, but then replied with a somewhat sheepish half-smile: "Nowhere else I'd rather be…" He quickly tried to take a bit of weight out of the admission by shrugging semi-casually. He almost expected a snarky comeback, but House – for once – kept his mouth shut.

When he returned with their food, House had just propped his bad leg up on a pillow and was now impatiently nodding towards his DVD collection. "Splatter-flick or bad porn?"

Setting both plates down on the coffee table, Wilson slowly sat down as well, careful to avoid disturbing House's leg again. "Sounds… both very tempting." He could see House's mouth curl slightly into the beginnings of a smile.

"Bad porn it is then!" House simply pronounced after another moment.

Shaking his head slightly, Wilson started to dig into his food. "See…? _That's_ why I always end up here."

"Sure. That and the couch…"

. . . . . . .

Half an hour, and half a glass of Bourbon later, House had simply fallen asleep. Even now, he still looked exhausted, but at least the deep lines of pain had finally left his face for now...

Gently removing the glass from the other man's hand, Wilson loosely covered him with a blanket, one hand lingering a moment on his friend's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, House…"

Sitting back in the recliner next to the couch, Wilson took a sip of his own whiskey, smiling slightly when he realized that it actually _was_ a merry Christmas. Even with House hurting; hell, even with him asleep! He felt content. He felt… at home.

He briefly wondered whether House would be surprised if he ever told him... – Come to think of it, he sometimes seriously wondered whether House even knew what their friendship meant to him. What _House_ really meant to him...

He only realized that he must have spoken at least part of the question out loud, when he was suddenly startled out of his thoughts by House's gruff voice.

"Well, if I didn't know before, you practically wiping my _ass _for the last three hours might have just tipped me off…"

Before Wilson even had a chance to overcome his momentary state of shock and come up with an at least halfway witty reply, House had already turned slightly on the couch, pulling the blanket a little more tightly around himself. Then his mouth twitched slightly in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. "Night Wilson…"

Still staring at the other man, Wilson finally couldn't help but smile as well. Slowly lying back again, the smile turned into a soft chuckle.

"Night House."

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**The end**** :)**


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